Brita steps through first and waits for Tricksey to appear beside her. They stand on a road leading to a bustling port town. The land rises steeply to where a castle sits nestled under an overhang in the cliff next to a long cascading waterfall. The castle is a hodgepodge of tall spindle towers and squat domed buildings all pink tinged with bulbous colorful tops to the towers.
Tricksey stands in the street for a moment, glancing around, dumbstruck. She'd bought into the 'different world' stuff, but witnessing it is something else entirely. For one, it's not raining petrochemicals, which is new. The air tastes clean and crisp, and they haven't been accosted by police and/or electronic street signs within thirty seconds.
This is terribly odd. Disconcerting. Wondrous.
What proceeds is the Crow Girl circling Brita in a frenzied dance of hopping and pointing. "What's that? What's that? What's that?!"
"Horse and Cart. General Store. The Docks."
Brita acknowledges the town guard as they proceed through towards the castle.
Tricksey beams at the guards as they pass, "Tricksey! I'm with Pretty Brita!"
The city is a port, so it's a hodgepodge of sea birds and birds more common to land. Climate-wise it's cold, but not like Westchester County. If this is winter, then summer will be sweltering. The birds are talkative, but stay a respectful distance away. There seem to be a lot of corvids, but they aren't coming close at all. It's pretty cold for most of them.
Tricksey greets those willing to speak and dips her head to those who aren't. She makes no attempt to hide this fact from Brita, as she croaks and squawks excitedly. "You Crow-speak?" she says offhandedly, looking over at her companion.
Brita cocks her head, "It Is a Little Like the Speech of Grandda Odin’s Ravens the Dreaming Huginn and the Memorable Muninn - I Can Understand the Intent, but Not the Actual Words."
Tricksey beams, touching her chest with pride, "Can understand. But birds here have accent." She glances at the flocks. "And cold. Literally. Not emotionally."
If Westchester was like a nostalgic throwback, Xanadu is like a fantasy movie. The guards have blades, and nobody has any electronics. There's nobody talking on a phone at all.
The taverns, which look like movie sets, have heat and light and song trailing out. People seem to be celebrating the midwinter.
The Crow Girl continues her fluid circle around Brita, examining things with bright eyes and brighter smiles. "Is like faerie tales. Brother Grimm. Or cheap holovids. Hairy Pooter and Stenographer's Scone. Bored of the Wings." She gestures to the city, "All like this? Was expecting more Mongols. And Abyssians maids. Crow Girl like those." She adds a dubious whistle.
"It is, for Now. It is Growing Quickly!" Brita notes.
After a few moments, Trixie realizes that they're all singing and speaking in a language she knows, but can't remember learning.
This brings her to an abrupt pause. She shakes her head, sticking a finger in her ear as if to clear it. "Not City-speak. How I understand?"
"Thari is The Language From which All Languages Derive. As Part of Ordered Reality, You have Its Seeds inside You," Brita says.
Tricksey rubs the back of her head, "From momma or pappa?" She thinks, "Thari everywhere? Can Crow Girl read too?"
"From Whichever parent Descends from the Line of Order," Brita notes. "I Believe You Would be Able to Read Thari as well." Brita is guiding them up the rise towards the castle now. When they reach it, she will find a page to alert the King and request an audience.
Tricksey grins brighter at this. "Like books. Even more than shinies." There's an added skip in her already prancy step.
Brita catches a scent on the air. There's a kinsman nearby. Possibly Edan. He turns the corner just as they are approaching a public square near the switchback road.
Edan is returning from overseeing a militia drill in one of the wide, indefensible town squares. Progress is being made, but it's slow, and he's not convinced that 50% of the militia men come back for the second lesson.
As he enters a broad path near the western gate, Edan sees Brita with a stranger. She's spotted him already.
Brita is wearing a fairly glamorous green dress. She has the skirt pulled up on the side and draped over an arm, revealing her typical leggings and boots. She lifts her hand in greeting. "Cousin Edan! Well Met! I am Taking Our Cousin Tricksey, Vigilant Protector of Shadow Tyrell to Meet The King," and Brita's hand waves to indicate her new cousin.
Tricksey's black short skirt, belts, fingerless gloves, blouse, and high boots are a violent collision of The Matrix and a cat-cafe. The silk tie is very stylish though. She's flitting back and forth across the street, her head turning on a star-struck swivel. Upon hearing her name, she skips over and curtseys - or a dubious facsimile thereof. "Crow Girl!' she announces, as if Edan should know this in his soul.
She cocks her head back and forth, avian and attentive. Then leans forward, invading all sense of personal space. A sniff. "Rugged. Serious. Armed. You po-po?"
Edan bows slightly; he is wearing a simple cloth outfit with a stylized lamp stitched on one side in gold thread. He’s flanked by a man and woman, similarly dressed. He looks more the worse for wear, but manages a smile. “Well met cousins, and pleased to meet you, Tricksey. Er... what is po-po?”
Tricksey steps back, touching her chin, an eyebrow lifting. "Blues. Lawmen. Foxes. But if Edan ask. Maybe not Fox." Her gaze drifts between his companions, studious. Then the smile returns, dismissing all suspicion.
"Have good chin. And shinies. Crow Girl like," she says, extending her hand to Edan. "I'm Tricksey. We Blood."
The knights with Edan look on impassively. Walking down the street with the Madhi is so regularly surprising that they no longer are surprisable.
Edan takes the hand. "Well met then, cousin. Is it cousin? There are a lot of new Family about." He turns to indicate his knights. "May I introduce Skander and Sami, two of the toughest of the Lamp. There has been interest in town for starting a militia, and we were assaying their abilities." Edan then goes conspicuously quiet.
Tricksey rolls her shoulders. "Think cousin. Maybe more? Brita of the Amazing Fashions take Crow Girl to meet King. Find out what clutch she come from. And get sticky-stabby sword." The last admission gives her much joy and she thrusts thrice at the air.
"Our Cousin Edan," Brita explains to Tricksey, "Leads the Order of the Lamp. There are Several Orders that Perform Different Services at the Behest of The King. Some of the Orders Began with Our Grandfather Oberon. The Order of the Lamp is the Newest and Most Talented as Befits an Order of Xanadu." She grins at Edan.
Edan smiles and touches his forehead in response. "You are too kind. Your words are like the gift of water in the desert."
At this, a serious expression robs Tricksey's mirth. Despite their short time together, Brita would undoubtedly notice the sudden change in demeanor. "So are po-po," she says softly. She steps toward the two knights, narrowing her eyes. "Skander. Sami. If serve, are you Crows or Foxes?" At their likely confused looks, she adds, "Do you serve Power or People?
"And if lie, Tricksey know." She sniffs the air, feral and alert.
Edan's brows draw ever so slightly closer together. "I am the knight-commander of the Lamp, and I would be happy to address such questions. I think I understand, but I would not limit us to that definition. We are lions. We are soldiers. They serve me, and I serve the king. Random is Xanadu, in a real way that would be difficult to explain here. My sister and I have accepted the writ to keep him and Xanadu safe from outside threats, each in our own way.
"The City Watch covers law enforcement in the city, and the Harbormaster covers shipping- I think those are the foxes you would be referring to. Interesting."
Tricksey quirks her head back and forth, birdlike, studying Edan and the pair. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she steps back, "Lions good. Proud. Protect. Not like Foxes. Foxes sly. Trick. Always want more."
She lifts her head, touch her chest, as if in a pledge. "Tricksey protect People. Those Who Cannot Protect Selves. Those Who Starve in Shadows. Those Ignored by Power. If Edan of the Chiseled Chin do this, Crow Girl help him."
Brita adds "Reality Xanadu is New and Growing. I Would Say that Even the Harbor Master and the City Watch are Not Foxes... Yet and We must Remain Vigilant Against Them Becoming Foxes."
At this, Tricksey relaxes, swaying her arms back and forth. "If not foxes, Tricksey happy. Foxes bad. Not help. Only hinder." Her eyes gaze beyond the group, as if seeing the city again for the first time.
Brita turns back to Edan. "Anything You wish Relayed to Our Uncles at The Castle?"
Edan shakes his head. "The king should already know we're sending out local patrols. There's a lot of interest in this local militia idea, but it will go slowly."
Skander seems to be having trouble following Tricksey. She addresses Tricksey. "We are knights, sworn to serve the Merciful One, through their servant the m--, the King and his nephew the Mahdi." She doesn't seem inclined to explain her metaphors, either.
Tricksey hops from foot to foot, arms drifting in the arm. "Knights good. Except when not. Like crusades. But trust for now." She winks and taps her nose. "Will tell King so. Crow Girl put in good word."
Skander doesn't seem grateful for this benefice, but she doesn't say anything else.
She bird-hops over to Brita, "We see King Randomized now? Or noodles?" Then her face pales in fear. "Xanadu has noodles, yes?"
Edan very nearly says something [about the crusades], but he's aware different places would have different history, so he stays quiet. Barely.
"Noodles Can Be Found," Brita assures Tricksey. "Or We will Teach The Kitchen how to Make Them."
Sami has been staring at the harbor. "Mahdi, there's a ship coming in with the Prince's colors." There is a ship coming in, flying Martin's pennants. Sami has sharp eyes.
Edan says so, though he's sure Sami knows that already. "Martin is aboard. He's back already?"
Sami shrugs. "Perhaps he summoned a Djinn to blow favorably for him." Sami doesn't seem to think that is out of the question.
Brita looks out at the ship as it anchors and begins to send out tenders. "We Should Hurry to The Castle," she says to Tricksey. "The King may be Busy Soon." She bows slightly to Edan and begins a brisk pace up the cliff road.
Edan thinks for a second, then follows. "If you don't mind, cousin, I'd like to hear if there's any news. Skander, Sami, I'll join you for the evening meal? I'm going out on patrol with Abd and Khulum tomorrow."
Tricksey pouts softly, but nods to Edan. "Pleasure. We meet soon. Talk more."
Then, with a profound flourish, returns to Brita's side. "To the King!" she announces, pointing down the street. "And noodles."
She remains standing there, statute-still, pointing onward until Brita moves.
Brita grins at her shenanigans and mutters something about 'Descent Direct from Uncle Loki' before she nods to Edan with "Your Company is Most Welcome, Cousin Edan," and makes for the castle.
Once at the castle, she will request an audience with the King through a handy page.
Tricksey sticks close to Brita, circling around her. This time she's quieter. The fact she's traveled to yet another world is starting to settle in.
"Will King know Parents?" she says after the page leaves them.
"Perhaps," Brita notes. "We can Look in the Trump Booth to See if You Recognize Anyone."
Tricksey cocks her head. Once. Twice. But thinks better of asking more.
The page leads Tricksey, Brita, and Edan to a nearby Audience Chamber. It is an informal one, with seats for visitors and a convenient bar. On the way, they passed another page, who left the room in a hurry.
The page asks if they need refreshments or if they should open their rooms for the evening, and departs with her answers, probably to inform Gilt Winter of the new arrivals.
Brita orders noodles, describing them to the page as necessary.
In a few moments, Random walks in. His hair -- like his person -- is short, spikey, and wet. He looks like he either has accidentally or strategically not shaved after going to the gym. He's wearing what seem to be perfectly serviceable but pre-modern clothes, including a doublet and hose, with flashings of color popping through slashes in the doublet.
If he had a hat with a giant feather, he'd look like a tiny Landsknecht, if Landsknechte smoked and were Germanic asthmatic teenage punks.
He raises his eyebrows and walks deliberately to the bar.
"Uncle," Brita greets Random. "This is Cousin Tricksey. My Brother and I Encountered Her in Shadow Tyrell where Cousin Abel was Also Residing."
"Technically, Gloomy Fletcher find Crow Girl," Tricksey says, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Then beat up little fox. Talk to other big foxes. Like Abel. Then meet Magic Brita and Watchful Conner. Have good noodles. Free prisoners. Hack Finance-Net. Then come here." She nods.
And then promptly remembers she's in the presence of a king. She does an exaggerated curtsey like she saw on all those Regency-Romance holos. What she lacks in grace, she makes up for with that superlative tie. "Preem to meet you, Sir-King-sir!"
Edan smiles a little and waits to see what the reaction is. Knowing Random, if a drink gets thrown his way he'll accept it.
Random starts pouring and handing out drinks. They're all different, and it doesn't seem like he could ever make the same drink twice. At least not on purpose.
"I don't know what all that means, but it seems to call for a drink. Don't be shocked. First of all, we're alone, so there's no need for ceremony for other people. Second of all we don't go in much for ritual greetings because we don't really need to."
A page enters the room and Random waves him in. The young person approaches and gives him a note and bows, slightly.
"Well, it looks like Prince Martin has also found a new cousin. I'd say 'it's not a cousin-finding competition', but I'm actually sort of enjoying the show, so keep it up."
Random turns to the page. "Tell my son I'd be pleased to meet his new cousin here. It'll save on the retellings.
"Now, anything else before they get here? Who is 'Abel'?"
"He was Exiled by Grandda Oberon under Threat of Death and Risk to His Father should he Return," Brita says, watching Random closely. "He is of the Military Branch of the Monk Order, but Did Not Approve of what the monk chew has been Doing to Our Kin. He was Not Sure he could Trust in a Welcome under The New King. I Did Promise he Could Use My Name for Save Passage to Reality Xanadu if he Wished to Return." Brita pauses but then adds, "Oh, He is Also Known as The Turcopolier. And he Revoked chew's Protection under Their Order."
Edan perks up at this, but frowns just as quickly. "So that's the Turcopolier. Family. A fight is going to go even less well than I expected."
Tricksey rubs the back of her neck, frowning. "Definitely Fox. But free Crow Girl's fledglings. So tolerable Fox."
She sniffs her drink, Downs it in one go. Immediately regrets doing so, coughing and sticking out her tongue. Just as quickly, she recovers, pretending as if nothing happened. Her neutral face isn't very convincing.
"More Bloodlings found. Is family horny?" she suddenly asks.
Random pours another drink for himself, and asks if she'd like another. "You may have noticed the banners all over the place. With the unicorn on a blood red background. She's not just our patron, she's my grandmother. So, literally, we are the hornbeasts of whom all others are but shadows. When horniness was invented, Grandmare was there. However, my father had just twenty or thirty children in the last two thousand odd years. Forty tops. Not a great procreation record."
The banners are all over the castle, and there is a unicorn motif. Some people decorate with owls or crows or emus, the King of Xanadu has Unicorn themes everywhere.
After graciously accepting the new drink, Tricksey's eyes slowly widen, birdlike. She glances over at Brita. "We Loki blood?"
She sips the drink this time, listening intently to the King's next words.
"So, yeah, we like sex. I haven't gotten tired of it in the last 500 years, anyway. And somehow, we all used to not have kids so much. Except everyone else except me was good at pretending we didn't have any, which is another long story.
"One of your cousins, or maybe brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles or some combination of all of the above may have tried a genealogy chart. That way lies madness, I say, but everyone should have a hobby.
"My other hobby is music. Do you play an instrument?"
Tricksey cocks her head and then beams brightly, nodding. "Crow Girl play. Metal. Synthwave. Industrial. Punk. Bass. Keyboard. Vocals mostly." She nervously shuffles her boot, ":Momma teach Tricksey shamisen. But not play since chick. Tyrell not have them. Very different from home."
She leans closer, barely suppressing her growing excitement. "King have band?"
Random nods. "It's required by the ancient and left-justified unwritten constitution of Xanadu, which I just made up. But I do, and did since before I was King. Or to put it more clearly, I am a drummer. I have six bands and seven side-projects at any given time.
"You'll find that most of the band is now part of the government of Xanadu. I can’t decide if that Xanadu makes a callioparchy or a euterparchy, mostly because I can’t decide which one sounds rudest.
"Anyway, we'll find you a Shamisen. Tell me about your mother, and your home." It sounds like an invitation.
Tricksey sips at her drink, listening. For the Crow-Girl, this is an unexpected treat. It's rare for people to be more chaotic than her, let alone a king. She tries hiding the growing grin. Fails. Spectacularly.
"And sword," she says softly. "Stabby-stabby."
The Crow Girl takes another deeper swig, letting the fire dampen the pained reminiscence. "Momma? She tengu-miko. Shrine maiden. Care for crows. Care for village. Beautiful hands. Crimson eyes. Strong heart. Mercurial as wind. Only love for Papa and Tricksey set in stone." She pauses, frowning. "Crow Girl not see beyond shrine. Not allowed. Had Touch early, Too many stories. Too much noise. Shrine old. But quiet."
Now she downs the drink, hissing, more at the memories to come than the alcohol. "Not see her after storm. Papa bundle Crow Girl. Momma's old kimono. Jasmine. Sandalwood. Feathers. Safe against tempest. Then Tyrell. Neon streets. Musical rain. People without faces. Protect Tricksey. Until she protect them. Protect their stories. Tengu-miko. Like Momma." The smile returns. "If Home like Earth, maybe Crow Girl find Momma."
Random sips his drink and watches her down hers. "Well, we call it 'the true Earth', or we did in Amber, at least. We're pretty ego-centric, but it is the center of everything, so it's easy to understand.
"You know about shadows, the many worlds that exist simultaneously atop each other but separated by almost unsurmountable gulfs of difference? Your home was one, probably. Tyrell is another, definitely. We walk between them, with a power that most people cannot master. It's the legacy of our ancestors, who created the light which is the source of shadows everywhere.
"It's a lot of fun. Imagine entire multiverses where nobody has heard your best jokes yet. And you can find anything you need or want." He looks serious for a moment, but it passes.
Tricksey considers this, grinning wistfully. A silver marker appears in her hand, spinning. "Infinite tagging? Crow girl need more paint." The marker disappears as quickly as it appeared.
Random pulls a paint marker from a pouch that almost certainly didn't have a marker in it a moment ago. He hands it to the crow girl. "You're gonna love some of our little tricks about finding things."
Tricksey hugs the pen to her chest, emitting a childlike squeal. "Magic! More shinies for Crow Girl. More tagging. More anarchy in the UK. Tricksey like this family." She holds onto the pen like a precious thing to be protected and adored for time immortal.
Random continues:
"I said we were masters of the power of the Pattern to move and shape shadow. Some time ago, there was a war that almost destroyed, well everything. The good news is, we won. But part of that was a black road that appeared across all shadow and wreaked havoc wherever it lay. And a cleansing storm that re-made things when the pattern was restored.
"My father, King Oberon, restored the pattern, but it killed him. So here we are, not dead but with lots of people still battered by the storm. My working theory is that you came through that as a child.
"I'll be very interested to find if your mother is alive. And your father. Do you know their names?"
Tricksey sets her empty drink down. "Crow Girl too young for names. Think names were endearments. Not help you. Even Pappa only call me Tricksey." She gestures to Brita, "Magic Princess Brita mention Trump Booth. Pictures that talk. Cousins. Aunts. Uncles. Maybe they there? Would look there please, King Sir."
"As far as the sword," Edan says, "There's an armory here and at the Order. I'm sure we can find something to fit."
Pens are amazing. But swords are amazing-er. Tricksey twirls, skips and then thrusts the pen ahead over her like a blade, "Stabby-stabby for Crow Girl. Please. Thank you! Parry. Dodge. Spin. Thrust. Ha!"
Random looks to Brita. "Did you all not show her trumps in Tyrell? What we call a trump booth is just a collective deck of the family's favorite cards that nobody can borrow and leave with." From the same pouch that produced the marker pen, Random pulls a trump deck.
Random puts it on a nearby table and starts tapping the top of it.
"We can play flash cards. Or if you can draw them, we can make some educated guesses."
Brita nods at Random's question and notes, "We Did Show Cousin Tricksey My Trumps, but I have a Limited Set with No Uncles. The Trump Booth is More Complete."
Tricksey's exuberance wavers. A flush of nervousness hits her as she moves closer to the deck. It holds mysteries. And truths. She wants these truths. But Truths are brittle and sharp. She crouches down in front of the table, fingers digging into the wood, eyes staring at the Trumps. Wide and shining. "Show us." Her voice is hardly a whisper.
Random cuts the deck and shuffles it one-handed, which is quite a feat for a man with small hands, but he manages to do so smoothly. He seems as if he's very comfortable with the cards.
"We'll leave the order on the horn of the Unicorn," says Random. He starts to turn over cards, each a portrait of surprisingly deep emotional content and expressiveness.
He turns over the first card, revealing a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair and an amazing ball gown, standing on a sweeping marble stair in an elegant setting. She's confident and seems to have picked the perfect shade of green to match her eyes. "Flora", says the King.
When she doesn't respond, Random turns another card, this one a laughing man with red hair and a beard. He looks like he's amused and wants to share the joke with you. He's wearing a sword at his side, and something about it seems very real. "Bleys," Random says.
He waits, then turns the next. "Caine." Another, "Martin." "Corwin," then "Llewella", then Julian, Gerard, Fiona, himself, Merlin, Huon. The last trump looks different, somehow.
Tricksey recognizes none of them.
Midway through, Tricksey pauses at two of the cards, but ultimately sighs in defeat. She shakes her head, oddly quiet.
Random nods. "Those are my brothers and sisters, and my oldest son and one of my nephews." He looks up at Brita. "We can send for more, see who Folly has, and if not, we can see what's stashed in the Trump Booth. I don't want to bother Paige just now, she’s happy in the forest."
"My Mother, and Brother Conner's, is Princess Fiona," Brita notes softly, one finger hovering over the card. "We Perhaps Need sketches of a Few Others as well, Uncle Random. Those that Have Passed the Gates."
Tricksey stands up, hugging herself. "Sorry. Not see. Would Touch. Trumps have too many memories. But hurt. And not help."
She glances over at Brita. "You mean they die?"
Edan adds, "Bleys is my father. And Paige is my sister."
Brita nods sadly. "But Your Father May be One of The Many Cousins Who are Not Depicted Here." She waves at the splay of cards.
One morning the crew of the Queen Vialle awakens to find the ship in tropical waters with a fantastic blue sky, and with dawn comes the cry that land has been sighted. Quickly the rumor runs through the crew that they've reached the waters of Xanadu and will be in harbor before nightfall.
For those who care to look, they can see the city is around the foot of a cliff that extends out over a lagoon. A waterfall drops down over the cliff and partway behind it is a hollowed-out cave with what looks like some form of building carved out of the rock inside. It should be extremely defensible.
The city is still in its infancy and many of the buildings are simple or under construction. The port is still under construction and Harsh can certainly imagine what sort of docking and maritime structures will be there in a few decades. For now, though, the Queen Vialle will have to anchor at sea and the crew will have to take boats ashore. The weather is cold for this kind of country; Harsh thinks it must be near to the winter solstice. Rowen guesses the same from the height and direction of the sun.
As is her custom to be on deck in the open air rather than in the hold, Rowen hovers at the bow of the ship--having been stopped from climbing out onto the sprit by the sailors, not for her ability but some form of wrath called Liability--and watches with rapt attention as the Queen Vialle draws near. Her large eyes dart along the shoreline taking in all the details of the terrain, then to the city and ships in the port. Unconscious to her, much of this was likely with her mouth wondrously agape.
Harsh goes aloft as the Queen Vialle approaches the city -- not simply to sightsee, but also to help with the sails and the rigging. He has to admit that the city gives some of the loveliest Golcondan port cities a fair run. He asks the Amberite sailors for the names of the landmarks, it never being too early to get familiar with a new place.
Rowen and Harsh are coming ashore with Martin and Lark and the Captain (who will be handling all the paperwork for their return.) Reynart is also with them.
By now, some of Harsh's men have made themselves very much at home on the Queen Vialle, but some--Lt. Singh, Hamidul, Parth Arjun, and Rifat--want to go ashore, and will join the landing party as is convenient.
A boat comes out from the nascent dock complex to meet their gig in the harbor and they climb across without spilling into the drink. Soon enough they're on dry land. The harbormaster and the Captain head off into the offices, leaving Martin and his party at loose ends.
Despite the appearance of being familiar with the ship, there's still a visible relief to be back on land for both of the Weir, in the way they ground their feet into dirt the moment they step off the dock. To the skilled eye, they both quickly assess the people bustling about, checking for arms and demeanors in a fashion practically instinctive.
The Golcondans are all varying degrees of curious and cautious, sizing up the locals, any ships or boats at anchor, and the business around the dock. They salute the Captain before returning their attention to Martin.
"Is there anything any of you need in town, or do you want to head up? And if we're heading up, would you rather go by carriage, or directly by Trump?" This last is more addressed to Rowen than Harsh.
Rowen jumps a little with youthful ebullience. "I would very much like to try this magical thing! Let's go by Trump," she says. She glances over at the others, "After we do anything we need in town, that is."
Reynart looks off toward the town and grunts. "Would like to see the wares. Can come back later."
Harsh's men all express an interest in exploring the town, and Singh is particularly curious about the workings of the harbor. Which Harsh is amenable to; he himself nods to Martin and says, "I am at your disposal, sir."
The Captain dismisses them to liberty in the town with instructions to report back to the Harbormaster's office. Reynart for sure will be sent up to the castle; the others may stay in town.
Martin draws out a box containing a deck of cards and shuffles out one. Harsh and Rowen can see that the subject is a large man with dark hair and a drinking goblet. Martin tucks away the box in a pocket and appears to concentrate on the card. "Hello, uncle. It's Martin and I have Lark and some others with me. Can you bring us through?"
Martin passes Lark through first; the other two see her disappear as Martin seems to hand her off into nothingness. He reaches out to Rowen and offers her his hand. Once she touches him, she can see a man resembling the one on the card, presumably the same man, but he's sitting in a wheelchair. He takes her free hand and says, "Step forward," and when she does, Rowen is in a sitting room with windows through which the same intensity of sunlight shows.
She lands with a slight hop and an audible gasp as turns--almost a twirl--to take in her new surroundings. Gracefully, Gerard's hand releases hers to allow her to spin out of the way, momentarily awestruck.
Martin then takes Harsh's hand and repeats the procedure.
Once on the other side, Harsh has to try very hard to not stare at the abrupt change of scenery.
When all of the group is through, Martin steps in behind them.
The wheelchair-using man speaks up as Martin tucks his card back into the box. "So, Martin, tell me about our newcomers." Lark has already climbed into his lap to give him a hug.
Martin says, "This lady is Rowen, who is the daughter of Whisper and sister to Cambina. I have reason to believe she is Cambina's full sister, which would make her Eric's daughter and Jerod's sister, though I haven't been able to reach him yet to confirm or discuss. This gentleman is Commander Harsh Majumdar of the Golcondan Navy, who found himself in Tortuga along with some of his sailors and joined us on the Queen Vialle. He brought me some notes from a Klybesian vessel that I think are going to be quite valuable and I want to discuss them with Dad." He turns his attention to Harsh and Rowen, "And this is my uncle, Prince Gerard of Amber, sometime Regent of Amber and Xanadu."
Even after the time spent on the Queen Vialle, the casual manner of the Amber royalty is still a bit jarring to Harsh. Most Golcondan children would wait until the official business was over to greet a relation as warmly as Lark has already done, and for a prince to refer to his father as "Dad" (or Baba, or any other similar term) is outright strange. Different places, different manners, he reminds himself; he schools his expression into neutrality, and goes over in his mind everything that he heard aboard the Queen Vialle about Prince Gerard.
After Martin completes his introduction, Harsh defers to Rowen; in his mind, she has the right to speak first as the known relation to this lot. If she looks to him in any way, he nods to her--go ahead.
Rowen dips a well-executed, courtly curtsy, that would have been the fashion years ago and--if enough thought went into it--coincided well with Whisper's departure from Amber. "Your Royal Highness, our deepest gratitude for bringing us here. May I serve with equal or greater measure."
Harsh, in his turn, bows deeply to Gerard. "Your Royal Highness, Lord Admiral," he says, "your kinsman has done me great honour in the aid that he has given to my crew after we found ourselves in exceedingly strange waters. If the documents I have given to him are in any way an aid to your family, it is but the smallest payment of my debt to him."
Gerard gives Harsh a good look up and down. "You've been of great assistance to our family already, Commander Majumdar, and I am quite sure the debt will run the other way when tallied. My nephew has done very well to bring you to our attention. Please sit down, and bide a moment; there is a matter we must send to the King regarding, and then there are some matters I'd like to discuss with you."
"Certainly, my lord." Harsh bows again, taking a seat where Gerard indicates. His posture is ramrod-straight, as if his (somewhat worse for wear now, but at least clean and pressed) Golcondan undress uniform were full dress.
"And it's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rowen. Your sister was a great help to me as Regent in Amber. She was loved well and is much missed."
"It was in the Monkland as it was in Amber. She was loved and greatly missed. I regret not having more time to spend with her. I endeavour, in time, to be as helpful," Rowen says, straightening with confidence.
Turning back to Martin, Gerard asks, "Have you talked to your father?"
Martin shakes his head, looking a bit hangdog. "No. I should've."
"Naught for it now, lad." Gerard's voice is not unkind. "Fetch a page, and send to him, and you and Lady Rowen here should talk to him at once. And you and I, niece, will talk more later."
"Yes, uncle," Martin says, and goes to the door to send a page for Random.
Rowen remains in the 5'x5' square she had staked out for herself, hesitating to interpret whether that meant she should go with Martin to chase after the page to the King. After a moment, she decides to follow, repeating Martin's departing words, "Yes, uncle."
Harsh rises to bow to Martin and Rowen as they depart. Then he resumes his seat and turns his full attention to Gerard.
Lark is still sitting in Gerard's lap, which is objectively not a great place for her given Gerard's injuries. "Lass," he says, "will you go into my office and find my cards, which are in my desk?"
"Your Trump cards, Uncle?" Lark asks Gerard, very seriously.
"Yes. They're in one of the drawers but you might have to hunt a bit. Don't open them. Your father told you how to handle them safely?"
Lark nods. "Face down unless you mean to use them. And I'm not meant to."
A fond smile greets that response, and then Gerard sets her down on the floor. "Goodbye Commander Majumdar. I'll be right back," Lark says and runs into what must be Gerard's office. The door closes behind her, a little harder than expected.
Harsh gives Lark a friendly wave as she scampers off, then returns his attention to Gerard. He's expecting some further questions about the Klybesian vessel, perhaps, or maybe something to do with the navy, or--whatever he's expecting, it all gets knocked clean out of his head by what Gerard has to say next.
"You're from Golconda," Gerard says to Harsh. "I've been to a land called that, though it's been a while ago, since before the castle fell on me. A handsome place, beautiful stonework, on the eastern coast of a peninsula, Hyderabad, Kolkata, Chennai. Is that the place you mean?"
For a moment all Harsh can do is stare, speechless. He'd resigned himself, somewhat, to the idea that the odds of finding someone in Amber who knew Golconda would be small at best, and now he's confronted with a prince of the realm--a senior prince, Martin's uncle--who says he's... been there?
He realises he's been quiet for a bit too long. Clears his throat awkwardly and says, "Unless there is more than one Golconda out ... there--" a flailing gesture with one hand, "--then ... yes. If you mean the Federation that governs half the Indic peninsula and rules the Southern Ocean, then yes. I was born in Kolkata, and have sailed with the Golcondan Navy for more than half my life."
"Oh, quite possibly there is, but for now I reckon we're talking of the same place." Gerard's wheelchair keeps him up straight but now he leans forward. "I've been to Kolkata. I knew a lass there. Knew her quite well. By the name of Titirsha." He's watching Harsh very carefully now. "Do you know who I mean?"
If Harsh wasn't already sitting down, he would absolutely need to. His hand goes white-knuckled on the arm of the chair.
"That's my--" He almost says aunt; it's what he's said for his entire life, even after she told him the truth, a truth that everyone in the extended Majumdar clan had gone to great lengths to suppress. Is there a point to continuing to do so? He thinks of Martin and everything else he's heard so far about the royal family of Amber, and he draws a deep breath.
"That's my mother's name." It could just be a coincidence, couldn't it? Difficult to decide what's more improbable. Or what he wants the truth to be. As he says it, it sounds even then like a last-ditch gasp of denial.
"Oh aye," Gerard says, and Harsh suspects that Gerard is having the same moment of questioning whether this is a coincidence or not. "And your father?"
Harsh shakes his head.
"The story my family put about is that I was an orphan," he says, his voice only just audible. "They--my uncle, my aunt, my...my mother--told me the truth when I was twelve, but even then they told me almost nothing about my father. Only that he was a foreigner and he was long gone--disappeared or dead, before I was born. She never even kept a picture of him, wouldn't tell me anything else." He looks up at Gerard, and despite his increasing inner turmoil, there's a flash of sardonic humour when he adds, "In a way, learning that made sense to me of why she's never married. Had enough of men, I suppose."
"That's a shame," Gerard says. "She was a lovely woman. I reckon you've found your father, then."
There's a pause, then the door to the office opens and Lark runs out. "I told Daddy you were a cousin, Cousin Harsh!" she says, and runs over to give him a hug, depositing the cards with Gerard en route.
Gerard waits until the hug is delivered to say, "Go tell your father the Commander and I will be late coming to join him and that the three of you shouldn't wait to go to the King."
"Yes, Uncle," Lark says obediently. "Goodbye, Uncle, goodbye Cousin Harsh. I'm glad you're family!" She dashes off to the door, opens it, and joins her father and Rowen out in the hall. Gerard just shakes his head.
It's perhaps just as well that Lark makes her entrance when she does, because her enthusiasm and happiness instantly defuse what might have been an angry outburst on Harsh's part. Her hug gets a quietly startled "oof!" and he watches her scamper off with bemusement.
It's easier than looking at Gerard.
"Prince Martin told me of his own parentage," he says. "Tell me, is it traditional for the men of Amber to seduce and abandon?"
Brittle as that is, it is a lot less unkind than some of the first replies that crossed his mind.
"Unfortunately yes. Some of us do it all unknowing, though. Had I known Titirsha was pregnant, I would have handled matters differently. But you are my son and I willna deny you," Gerard says calmly. "If, now, when one or both of us return to Golconda, Titirsha decides to come here, or go elsewhere, she will want for nothing I can give her."
Damn it. Gerard is making it really difficult for Harsh to stay angry.
"I can't pretend to know what her mind will be. She's always done as she pleases. But I reckon you know that." He looks up at Gerard and studies his face -- trying, he supposes, to find something familiar in it. "So what does this make me, in the grand scheme of this family?" He laughs softly. "It's a bit funny, really -- all the time I was sailing with Prince Martin and Rowen and Alex, I thought -- that business, the family, that's naught to do with me. And I thought, that's a relief, but also..."
He shrugs one shoulder, ruefully. "I admit, I was envious. Not the first time I've wanted something bigger out of life, I suppose."
"You've taken, as they say, a step into a much larger world."
Gerard has probably made this explanation before.
"Your place will depend largely on what you want it to be. In due time you'll swear to the King and take a rite of passage that all our family endure. It gives us conscious control over our gifts. By the time that's done you'll probably have an idea of what interests you: captaining a ship or exploring or military work or perhaps something entirely different." He shrugs. "Until we know each other better, I cannae say what would suit you, and my predictions in the past about such things hae been wrong." He pauses there, thoughtfully, and asks, "How much do you know about the family? At large, and in particular, me?"
"What the Prince has told me, and what the ship's crew had to say as well."
He gives as brief a prúcis as he can of what he's learned -- the powers of the royal family, the recent history, the names of the major players (including Gerard) and their roles.
Gerard listens to Harsh's recitation of what he knows, and frowns here and there; it's clear the family is even larger than Harsh realized. Gerard starts at the top, with Osric and Finndo, through the Faiellans, the Clarissans, the Rilgans (including himself), and last but not least Paulette's children, Random and Mirelle, describing all his many niblings and grand-niblings, including the ones like Folly, daughter of Huon and great-granddaughter of Julian, where they're related on both sides. He leaves his own descendants for last.
"I hae two children to my firm knowledge. One is the daughter of my sister Ysabeau, of an unknown sire, and her name is Solange. She was raised in fosterage in Amber, and educated further in a land called Lauderville. And second is my son Vere, of my marriage to Corvis of the Isles of the Dannan. He was raised by his mother. The Isles of the Dannan were sunk and Corvis lives here with me now. Vere is travelling on a mission for the King."
By the end, Harsh's head is spinning. At some point he asks for paper and a pencil, jotting down notes in despair of ever keeping any of this straight in his own head.
Gerard wheels into his office and produces them, sketching the lines of descent and letting Harsh fill in the names in his own language.
"I'm not sure if I'm sorry or relieved he's not here," he admits with regard to Vere after a brief silence. A wry look. "Might have been the leaf that brought the elephant to his knees, so to speak, after--" a vague encompassing gesture, "--everything."
He glances in the direction where Lark ran off after Gerard sent her away. "Will anyone ... this doesn't seem like the sort of family that will be much shocked at the revelation of another cousin, is it?"
"Nay," Gerard says. "For a long time we thought there were only a few grandchildren, and most of them dead or lost. But with the war, everyone has brought in their children, and more have shaken loose. What with some of our brothers and sisters having died, too, there were those with no parent to come forward.
"Nor will any think less of you for having been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The children of Oberon hae not been much for marriage, not least because Dad didn't think much of it. Corvis lives here with me now, but Dad never knew because he'd never have accepted the marriage. Not because of anything about her, necessarily, but because he didn't want any of us lawfully wed."
Harsh reddens at the casual mention of illegitimacy -- despite the obvious acceptance in Amber, one doesn't get over one's Golcondan internalised prejudices in a few weeks. Still, he nods in understanding. It's all very strange, but ... it is thus, and so he must accept it as thus.
Gerard stops there and looks shrewdly at Harsh. "Do you want to meet her now? Or would you rather go join Martin and Rowen? They're undoubtedly discussing Family business you might want to hear."
"I--I think I'd like to join the others," he says. The thought of meeting Corvis is unsettling in ways he can't pick apart at the moment, and at least Rowen and Martin remain familiar faces. "And perhaps when things are quieter, I can meet the--meet Corvis. And Solange and Vere, when time permits."
"Very well," Gerard says, "we'll do that, and then I'll arrange for you to be given rooms in the family wing of the castle. I'll need to tell Corvis today, and she'll want to meet you sooner rather than later. She comes from a land where sons inherit from their mothers; she's always said should this come up, she'll be pleased to welcome any child of mine. And she's quite fond of Solange. Even so I'd like to start you on the right foot with her by introducing you as quickly as possible."
And on that note, he leads Harsh out into the hallway and finds out from the pages where Martin and Rowen went, and they follow on.
Martin leads Rowen outside into the hall and quickly fetches a page, who's tasked with several messages. One to the King to announce his return with Lark and a new cousin; another to his wife, the Lady Folly, to announce his return with Lark and a new cousin; and one to Jerod, if he's in residence to come immediately. If Jerod's not in residence, then someone is to return and let Martin and Rowen know.
Once all that is settled, and Rowen notices that the page is expected to hear and retain it all just as a youth would be in the Monkland, Martin leans against the wall and relaxes. "Should have dragged Lark out here with us."
Rowen continues to look at everything, taking a more than casual interest in the stonework as she passes into the hall. Somewhere behind her eyes, an internal map is being drawn, so far consisting of a room, the outside, a door with a question mark behind it, and another door leading into this corridor.
"She seemed quite happy on your--our--uncle's lap. What is the King like? Your dad?" On the surface, they may seem the same question, but are quite different in her intent.
"Uncle Gerard was Regent during the recent war so all of us who were on this side of the universe are comfortable with him. Lark knows who he is because we--I--teach her about the family. I show her the Trumps we have and she's learned who each of her great-uncles and great-aunts and cousins of all sorts are. I don't have cards of all of them," he adds, "just a lot of them."
"In time, will it be difficult to get cards of my own?" she asks. The scope of the world she has stepped into still hasn’t fully revealed itself to her but she has a feeling she’ll need all the tools she can get her hands on.
"That'll depend on a lot of things that I don't know yet. I wouldn't count on getting a deck so you'll probably pick them up one at a time, as you can get them. There aren't many artists and there are a lot of us.
"Dad," he says, changing the subject, and hesitating for a moment, "now Dad and I are complicated. He didn't know my mother was pregnant when he left her apparently, and he didn't know when I was born, and then he was in Rebma's bad books so I didn't meet him until a few years ago. We get along all right most of the time but things are, well, complicated. He was the runt of his siblings and they were kind of shit to him, but things happened and he grew up some. And then the Unicorn made him king. He's got a sense of humor and you're not going to get it. That's OK. A lot of people don't."
"Laugh and smile, then?" She demonstrates. "It sounds like he wouldn't be terribly offended.
Martin nods, once.
"And yourself? You seem to be accepting of him despite his absence."
Martin smiles, but there's a wry twist to his lips. "There are a lot of things annoying me about this court right now, but for once Dad's low on the list. I'm not mad at him. He's trying and I get that. The fact that I need to be somewhere else isn't his fault."
Lark bursts out of the doorway and says, "I told you, Daddy! I told you!" Martin's already closing the door behind her by the time she finishes speaking.
"What does Uncle Gerard say, Lark?" Martin asks patiently, even though Lark's bright eyes and big grin clearly convey she has other interests.
"He says we should go on to see the King now and not wait on him and Cousin Harsh." Lark turns to Rowen and adds, "I knew he was a cousin, just like I know you're our cousin."
"All right," Martin says, and moves to take her hand, as if to forestall further discussion. "Let's figure out where Dad is and go make our bow and then we can find your mother."
But there's another person in the hall already and Lark shakes Martin off to run down the hall to throw herself into the newcomer's arms. "Mama mama mama mama mama! We had such a good time! Daddy took us to Weirmonken and we met Cousin Rowen and her brother and Daddy found Cousin Harsh and I learned all about the ship! It was old-fashioned! No radio or anything!”
Martin says, "Hello, Folly.”
"Hullo, love," Folly says, beaming, as she scoops up her daughter with perhaps surprising strength for her small stature. "Welcome back. I've missed you!" That last is directed to both Martin and their daughter, who gets a kiss on the forehead as Folly settles her onto her hip.
Folly is perhaps five feet tall, with the sort of elfin features that make it difficult to tell exactly how old she is. Her dark hair is twisted into several knots across the top of her head, with the exception of two long purple locks hanging down to frame her face. She is dressed simply but accessorized eccentrically: she wears a plain, loose woolen dress of light violet that falls to just above her knees, with tall brown boots. Peeking out from the inch or so of space between them are hose or close-fitting trousers dyed in a riot of bright sunset colors -- purples, pinks, reds and deep blues. In deference to what passes for winter here, she's also wearing purply-brown arm warmers knitted from thick, soft yarn and studded here and there with small, colorful wooden beads. The irregular pattern suggests either a novice knitter or someone who was making it up as they went along. The overall effect gives an air of "artistic but approachable".
She closes the distance between them and greets Rowen with a smile. "So... cousin Rowen or cousin Harsh, I'm guessing?" She glances at Martin with a questioning expression and slight gesture he interprets as 'Where am I needed?' before offering her free hand to Rowen in greeting.
Rowen flashes a broad, welcoming smile, her lips forming an excited O as she takes Folly's hand. The pressure is slightly firm but natural, without contest. "Cousin Rowen," she clarifies. "It is an honor and pleasure to meet you. Your husband has been the consummate host bringing me here." As silence grabs a moment to let something land, she quirks a brow at Lark. "Cousin Harsh?"
By comparison, Rowen has another 9" over Folly, accentuated by her slenderness. Though her features are borderline ethereal, she still bears some of the baby fat of her youth. She does not appear to be wearing cosmetics and her nails are unlacquered, but trimmed. Worn up and in a bun, her hair is earthy and radiant in a vibrant reddish-brown. Modestly, she is dressed predominantly in dark greens with ivory highlights and trim, with a form-fitting bodice and a slight flare at the hem of the ankle-length dress. Surprisingly for a newly-arrived foreigner, she is remarkably "in fashion" for Xanadu, by luck or intent.
Martin says, "Folly, Rowen is Cambina's sister from Weirmonken, and we're pretty sure she's Jerod's sister as well, though I haven't been able to make contact with him. I think he's been busy with something. And Harsh, Commander Majumdar, is a refugee we picked up in Tortuga who seems to have slid through a Shadow rip on a Klybesian wreck. Bleys sent me to chase it down and we found him."
Lark is bouncing on Folly's hip. "And I knew he was our cousin!"
"Not formally until somebody announces it," Martin says firmly. "And to finish the introduction, Rowen, this is, as you gathered, my wife, Folly. And we have instructions from Gerard to go on to see Dad but not," he says to Lark "to say anything about Uncle Gerard and Harsh until they arrive themselves. Understood?"
"Yes, Daddy." Lark sounds utterly dejected as only a small child deprived of an expected treat can.
"And we let Cousin Rowen speak for herself too," Martin concludes.
"Yes, Daddy. Yes, Cousin Rowen."
Both Martin and Rowen catch the brief darkening of Folly's expression at the mention of a Klybesian wreck; but she tamps it down. "Perhaps instead you could report out on your new sailing skills," she suggests to her daughter. "I'm sure Uncle Gerard would enjoy hearing that once he arrives."
"All things considered, young Lark may know more about my place in this grand family than I do. She certainly has a better grasp of relations," Rowen offers with a soft laugh.
Folly looks at the door to Gerard's office, then at Martin. "D'you want to go ahead to report out, and I'll bring Commander Majumdar when he's done with Gerard?"
Rowen looks to Martin for direction.
Martin shakes his head, once, in answer to Folly's question. "I think Gerard will come with Commander Majumdar himself if I read that situation correctly. We can all go see Dad now, and maybe afterwards we can try to get a Trump line on Jerod."
Last modified: 3 June 2023